


After Five Years

by Hagar



Category: Mighty Morphin Power Rangers
Genre: Coffee, Coffee Shops, Collection: Purimgifts Day 1, Gen, Melancholy, One Shot, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-22
Updated: 2012-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-31 14:19:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hagar/pseuds/Hagar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You buy him coffee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After Five Years

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheSecondBatgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSecondBatgirl/gifts).



The coffee shop is L-shaped, short arm perpendicular to the street and long arm parallel to it. He sits at the far end of the latter. With his back to the wall he has a good view of the street, but you don't think that's a deliberate choice. He's slouched in the chair, toying with the straw, and doesn't seem to be paying particular attention to anything.

You know he frequents this coffee shop. You know he sits there for hours at a time. You watched him sit there for half a day, once. The wait staff left him alone despite that he'd only ordered the one drink. You see the way they glance at him.

You've been watching him for weeks. You noticed that his clothes are worn and familiar, his hair longer and unstyled and his cheekbones more prominent than maturity alone would explain.

He'd been shy, then. Now, he walks like he wants to remain unseen, unnoticed. He's concealing his weight loss, too. He doesn't let go until the waitress walks away, having brought him his glass. The lines his face and body fall back into are sad and lonely, tired.  
He smiles distractedly at the waitresses, but you think he doesn't even see them. He doesn't know what he communicates. You think he doesn't know what he feels. You've been watching him for a while.

Today, you cross the street.

The bells over the door jingle when you walk in. You're acutely conscious of that and of your very face; he seems to not notice you at all. You speak clearly when you order at the counter; he's staring into his thoughts still.

He doesn't shift at all until you place the tray down at his table. Then he looks up at you.

You speak first. Your heart pounds so loudly against your ribs you helplessly wonder if he can hear it, but still you speak first. "Hey," you say, and add "I got you coffee,” as you put the macchiato in front of him, and the tea on the other side of the small table.

His eyes flicked up to your face briefly when the tray clattered against the table, but he is staring down at his coffee when you turn to sit across from him. The angle makes it harder to read his face but you can tell that he's frowning slightly, blushing a little, mostly confused. It's a long moment before he lifts his eyes to you. You're carefully sipping on your tea when he does.

Your shirt is yellow and black. You're very aware of it in the single second it takes for him to take you in, dark eyes and dark shadows stark against his skin. Yellow and black have been your favorite colours for a very long time, though, and it's one of the few things that you still recognize about yourself.

"Do I know you?" he asks.

"Not exactly."

His pupils are still wide. He's still taking you in, and you still can't quite meet his eyes: your gaze skitters, registering the thousand details of him you couldn't notice at a distance, and when you finally make yourself look him in the eye you are looking through him and it's all you can do to keep your shoulders from locking straight.

Does he recognize you? There's something in the back of his eyes to suggest that, or it could be general and ingrained suspicion. You don't want to draw this out.

"My name's Rina," you say. "It used to be Sc…" You stumble on that name, and use the other one instead. "Sabrina."

You know exactly when he places you because his pupils dilate even more for a split-second. He doesn't say your old name. He says "Oh," and then lifts the coffee cup and takes a sip. He doesn't quite put the cup down and he doesn't quite nestle it in his hand. It's a few seconds before he says, "You survived."

He doesn't sound disappointed.

"Seems that way," you say.

He nods slowly. "I heard that… that some of you survived." Something shifts in his face. It makes him more recognizable, and that makes you ache more at everything that's new about him. "So, Rina?" he asks.

"Yeah," you admit. The slight smile is involuntary.

He nods. "I like it."

"Thanks."

For a few moments the two of you just sit with your drinks. It's more comfortable than you expected. It's nice.

"Why…?" he asks. He gestures vaguely.

You look away. "There's not a lot about me I still know," you tell the window. _I wanted to see how you're doing. I wanted to…_ You look back at him, straight in the eye this time, and intend to apologize, but he speaks first.

"I like 'Rina'."

There's a whole world in how his says those words. You reach and cup his hand with both of yours. "What happened, Adam?"

It's so easy for you to read everything in the subtle twitch of his muscles, and suddenly you're acutely aware of being a hundred times his age, and all that entails. In the wake of that you realize something more: you did not seek him out just because he's one of few familiar things left to you.

Subtle pressure on his hand makes him look up at you.

"Why am I talking to you?" The bitterness is subtle, but there.

"Nothing to lose," you tell him. "Not with me."

He smiles openly, and the expression is bitter and broken. "Nothing to lose anyway."

You can kiss him now and he'll fall into you. Scorpina would've done it. You are Rina. You squeeze his hand, let go and sip on your tea.

He's staring into his thoughts, again.

You think he's broken open and promptly dismiss the thought. _You can't hatch without getting cut on your own eggshell,_ your people used to say. He's not who he was; neither are you.

For now, you watch him drink his coffee.

 

  


**Author's Note:**

> This story now has a not-quite-a-sequel, rated E: [Perfection](http://archiveofourown.org/chapters/2243456)


End file.
